


Stray

by orphan_account



Series: Stabdads Verse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, First Date, M/M, Stabdads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave doesn't know how to handle a crush, Slick is a gangster who makes questionable decisions, Bro is a ninja on a mission, and Karkat has no control whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The day’s barely started and you’re tired as hell, dragging your feet across the school football field and kicking up clumps of frost-glazed leaves as you go. Vengeful gods on a one-wheeled cycling device, its cold out here. Your name is Karkat Vantas and you’re not a morning person in general, but last night in particular showcased your dad screaming into his phone until you could feel the reverberations of his voice through your recuperacoon slime. The next morning the bastard commanded you to get in his car so he could drive you to school on his way to meet up with the Crew, resulting in another shouting match when you'd refused to have him drop you off at the front of the building. You had to deal with enough crap without making a grand entrance in a car dented with the bullet holes your guardian was too stingy to have repaired. Rubbing your eyes on the tattered end of your scarf, you finally push through the back doors of the school. The heating system in this place is remarkably shitty, making you glad you pulled an extra few layers on before leaving the house today as you weave through the crowd of students to keep from being bowled over by someone taller than you. By the time you make it to your locker you know your face is fixed in an irritated scowl that only deepens when a familiar voice hits your chilled ears.

God damn it. You keep your gaze fixed resolutely on your locker’s contents, not wanting to deal with any insufferable pricks this early in the morning. You hear the jovial sounds of various jocks and members of the popular crowd being chummy with him and feel your right eye tick. 

You’ve known Dave Strider for a while now, but in the past year he’s been particularly hard to avoid. Even though the two of you are leagues apart on the high school status board, he’s become a permanent fixture in your group of friends, forcing you to deal with him by association on a daily basis. While things between the two of you haven’t been hostile in a long time- not since he and Terezi stopped being so sickeningly flirtatious- he serves as a constant reminder of one of the most cringe-worthy times of your life, and that’s enough to make you wish that he’d finally just fuck off into some cold dark abys-

“Mornin’. Walk through a tundra to get here, broski? Your horn nubs look ready to pop off like cheap buttons.”

Son of a motherfucker.

“Use any of those words to refer to me again and I'll claw your word flapper out through your wind pipe, forever robbing you of the ability to pleasure yourself to the sound of your own voice and forcing you to come up with a new nightly activity to fill the time slot between your usual swilling of cleaning chemicals.” You say, still pretending to be preoccupied with your locker even through you’re basically just staring at the crumpled scraps of last week’s homework.

You know from extensive experience that engaging this douchebag is as pointless as a crotch-flavored lollipop and leaves just as awful a taste in your mouth, but he makes it damn hard to ignore what an ass he is.

“Rawr. Seriously man, it’s not like your given name’s much more dignified.” Strider says, leaning on the locker beside you as the light catches those ugly goddamn shades. “Karkat... Karcrab's too obvious. Are you in the market for a stripper name, because let me tell you-”

“I’ll thank you to stop butchering my name before I shove your hideous mug into my locker and smash the door on your scrawny neck.” You say, teeth grating against one another.

“Don’t be offended, man. I’d totally throw a few singles your way.” You of course can’t see his eyes, but now by the way his facial muscles twitch that he’s just winked at you. 

You suddenly feel unclean. 

“Speaking of layers, the frostbitten look works for you. Totes adorbs.”

The walking growth of bulgerot actually pokes your reddened nose, complete with a vocalized ‘boop’ sound effect before taking his wise and swift leave down the hall. 

You stick your head in your locker and scream into it.

* * *

   **== > Be the insufferable prick**

You are now Dave Strider, sitting in a class you really don't care about. Normally you're a fan of history, but all of your attention right now is focused elsewhere. You should be listening because the teacher's talking about joining into pairs to create some powerpoint over the weekend that'll be worth a decent chunk of your project grade, but instead you’re intently staring at the back of a certain troll’s head and scheming like a boss.

If it were anyone else, you'd just have to flash a smirk their way and they'd be tripping over themselves to get to you. With Karkat, it's a little more complicated as the foul mouthed twerp has been giving you the stinkeye ever since your earliest interactions with Terezi- not to mention the glares you got when things there petered out. Dude’s hard to please that way. It’s not like you hadn’t wanted it to work out with her, but once she’d started going at it with that stoner clown you truly realized that black romance was more than an excuse for violent girl-on-girl makeouts in bad movies. You may have been way too cool for all most lovey-dovey bullshit, but you had your own set of romantic ideals, okay? Not that you were one to take a dump on anyone’s culture, but it turned out monogamy had been so high up on your list that you didn’t even think it warranted mentioning. Things with Rez had ended before they really started, but at least on amicable terms.

You prop your chin up in your palm, eye drifting to the clock even though you knew there is still exactly half an hour of class left. Damn. Welp, back to looking at Karkat's horns. Little things were precious as fuck.

You’re not really sure when your attention shifted. After things with Rez ended, having Karkat in your face all the time had led to you noticing a few things- namely, how much fun you had messing with him. His attempts to offend you were downright laughable once you knew his game, and it was ridiculously easy to get him flustered. For someone like you, watching someone so transparent was downright novel. Karkat was easier to read than a book, which was made all the more amusing considering the guy was nothing but bravado. Even when he pretended not to care, you could see the wrinkle in his nose, the way he slouched and folded in on himself as he avoided eye contact, babbling obscenities like he didn’t know how to stop. It was fucking cute, not to mention refreshing. The troll was incapable of subtlety or deceit, and that was something you really liked the more you thought about it.

And hey, he was single. He’d started getting “pale” with Kanaya according to Rose, but to your knowledge the only person he’d ever been hate-horny for was John and wow, was that a hilarious joke all its own.

Speaking of, it looked like people were pairing up for that project now, and there was John grinning and jostling a typically cranky Karkat. A quick glance around the room told you that everyone else had already found their partners, leaving you with an absently doodling Jade. On most days, that would’ve been just fine by you, but today you were on a mission.

“Hey, Harley.” You nudge her with your pen and she looks up, colorfully-ringed fingers splayed across her drawings. “Why don’t you pair off with Egderp today.”

A bit on the nose, but trying to be sneaky with Jade was more likely to make her impatient with you than anything else, and that’s not what you had time for right now.

“Hm?” She blinks, eyebrows raising over her glasses. “How come?”

“Just do it.”

She turns and skeptically squints at the front row.

“But it looks like he’s paired with Karkat.”

You stare at each other for a moment, your gaze flat even behind your shades, and realization slowly spreads across her face.

“Ooooh.” A gleeful smile reveals her improved-but-still-noticeable overbite and she fidgets in her seat excitedly. “Ooooooh!”

She winks at you but thankfully doesn’t need to be further convinced, going to the front row of desks and playfully latching onto John. You can’t hear what’s being said, but from the affronted look on Karkat’s face and the bashful, apologetic one on John’s, you know you’ve won. No one can resist a Harley on a mission.

With John already being ghosted away you can see Karkat looking around the room for someone free, and his gaze lands on you. You smile (okay, smirk) and give a short wave, causing his expression to immediately go sour.

The bell rings and you can tell he’s tempted to try disappearing into the flood of students, but you both know that’s not going to happen. You meet him in the hall, slumping against the locker in bitter defeat. Gotcha.

“Let’s get one concept straight in your desecrated muffin tin of a thinkpan, Strider.” He says gruffly, arms crossed protectively over his chest. “I don’t care how cool you think you are, but you’d best get off your lazy, sore-riddled ass because I’m not doing all the work or failing because you’d rather sit with your opposable digits up your waste chute than rub your two competence cells together and contribute. Neither of us wants to, but because this festering shit hole of a class requires us to work together, we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“Cool.” You say, successfully diffusing what was probably his hastily pre-conceived speech. “Just gimme your address and let’s tackle this beast.”

“What.”

“You know. You and me, on an epic hunting expedition. Gonna tag team the shit out of this project, hogtie it and-“

“No you blubbering fuckwit, I meant that there’s no way in the seven rings of hell that shat you into existence I’m letting you set foot in my place of residence. Just give me your address and I’ll show up at your sad excuse of a hivestem.”

“Yeah, don’t know what that means, but it’s not happening dude. My bro’s not big on visitors.”

That wasn’t exactly true- Bro was just fine with your friends coming over, but exposing your crush to him and his legion of plushrump smuppets was the last thing you wanted.

“And just what compels you to think you can invite yourself across my threshold like an absurd inverse vampire?“

“Answer’s not changing, man. So unless the library’s taken you off its ban list, you’d better polish up them hosting skills.”

One could only yell so many echoing obscenities across a public building, so something told you that Karkat hadn’t seen the inside of the local library for years now.

His face flushes a deep red that meets his partly filled-in eyes, his fists clenching like he’s about to break into a new rant before his shoulders go slack in surrender.

Success.

“Fine. But you don’t touch anything and when I say you leave, you fucking leave. Got that through your impenetrably thick skull, Strider?”

“Yup.” You say, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously just to see him chomp on his lower lip in frustration. “I’ll pick you up after school?”

He grunts and stomps down the hall like an angry little hedgehog, head down and haunches up, and you take that as an affirmation with no small amount of smug.

Operation: 'Dat Ass' is a go.

* * *

The rest of the day passes in a blur of impatient foot-tapping and sly looks from Jade. You ignore for her now but know you’ll have to deal with her later; you just hope you’ll have something good to say when she interrogates you for details.

You’re leaning against the hood of your clunker of a truck and looking over the parking lot as students flood out of the building. Bro claimed it was for ironic purposes but you both know he was either too cheap or too much of an ass to get you anything better. So of course you’d pretended to love it, going on about how great it was whenever you could like that would somehow show him up. Some tool on the student council had put flyers for the upcoming Valentine’s day festival on all the car hoods, but instead of crumpling it and littering in the parking lot you decide to hold onto it. Ironically.

It’s chilly out here but your suffering is rewarded when Karkat finally manages to spot you, moving through the crowd like a guppy swimming upstream. He waves off Captor and the group he usually rides with and you can’t help but feel a little excited to see him coming towards you instead. It’s not a date, obviously, but it’s one-on-one time and that’s something.

You’re already starting the ignition by the time he drags his feet to the passenger’s side, bundled in what must be several large sweaters. He’s wearing that hat and scarf too, only showing his reddened nose and eyes.

A lesser man than you would give an undignified coo at the sight, but you manage to keep your cool.

“Let’s get this over with, Strider.” His arms are crossed like a pouty kid and the height difference between you has never been more apparent then whilst sitting side-by-side. 

“Just tell me where to go, little man.” You say, pulling out of the parking lot.

Karkat stiffens when he sees a crowded school bus slowly trundle past, giving a decent portion of the junior class a pretty good look at him sitting in your distinctively crappy car. You hear the hiss of him cursing through his scarf and feel deviously amused by his obvious dread for the rumor mill.

“So is it left or right, Grumpy Bear?” You say, pretending not to notice.

That startles him back to reality, and he spends the next ten minutes aggressively giving you directions and insulting your driving. Any normal person would be annoyed by this point, but it’s pretty hard for you to take a talking bundle of baggy winter clothes seriously.

Eventually he leads you to a pretty decent part of town and commands you to pull over into one of the generic spots alongside the road. 

Karkat wriggles out of the car seat, his movement slightly restricted by all those layers, and… walks straight past the home you stopped in front of.

“Um.”

“I’m not letting you park that piece of oxidized scrap in front of my lawn ring, asshole.”

“What, afraid I’ll make the property value go down?” You ask, catching up to him easily.

He snorts but doesn’t answer, and you think back to the whispers that flood the school whenever a notable heist or shootout happens in this city.

“Oh, I see. That’s pretty darn sweet of you Vantas, worrying about my safety.”

He splutters and you just know without looking that his face is going red for reasons unrelated to the cold. 

“Kiss the palest part of my gray ass, Strider. I just don’t want my dad spiraling off the handle and spraying your blood all over the house like a pressurized hose of cherry fucking Faygo. I’m the one who has to clean that shit.”

You shrug and carry on. Going to school with mob kids didn’t bother you as much as it should have- after all, you and Terezi had gotten on just fine, even though before getting licenses she and Vriska had always been chauffeured to and from school by various glowering members of the Felt.

The two of you finally arrive at what you assume is actually his house this time. It’s a bit dilapidated and in need of some tlc, but its still infinitely nicer than your one-room apartment. Karkat unlocks the door and impatiently walks in first, leaving you to shut it behind yourself.

“Keep your grubby fleshpads to yourself and don’t touch anything.”

You peel off your jacket and hang it in the coat closet like you’d learned to after years of visiting the Egberts, watching as Karkat deftly moves through the mess of the living room. Newspapers and old dishes are stacked just about everywhere and what look suspiciously like stab marks decorate most of the flat surfaces, but you still find it preferable to playing host in the Land of Shitty Swords and Smuppets.

You find him upstairs, pulling off two of his sweaters along with his hat and scarf, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Speaking of piles, there’s what seems to be a massive one in the corner comprised of trashy romance novels, the likes of which you’d only ever seen mixed amongst old magazines in the local laundromat.

“It’s a good thing I already knew you were a massive dork, otherwise I might find that unsettling.” You say, leaning in the doorframe for lack of anywhere else to sit.

His room, book pile excluded, is cleaner than the rest of the house but has only one chair, plus one of those slimy cocoons in place of a bed. 

He fixes you with one of the dirtiest looks in his arsenal and pointedly sits in the pile, keeping eye contact as he makes himself comfortable like he’s proving something. You raise your hands in assent and sit at his desk chair, which is unfortunately on the other side of the room from Karkat and his laptop.

You spend the next two hours throwing passive-aggressive snark across the room while putting together the powerpoint. It takes a while before the project is passable enough to leave alone for the day, and by then dusk is beginning to settle. To stall your inevitable expulsion from his home you search for new topics of conversation, and luckily it only takes a few comments about his posters before Karkat is storming over to his shelf of dvds. You’re both relieved and slightly horrified, but when he picks one with a ridiculously long title you know there’s no going back.

“Now open your perception orbs behind those plastic monstrosities you call eyewear Strider, because I’m actually going to be a benevolent host and help you learn something for once in your uncultured farce of a life.” He says, playing the movie and sitting in his pile with a huff.

“I’m not interested in watching any of your filthy porn, Karkat.” You say, sitting next to the pile anyway because you want to stay on his level but still aren’t willing to get a paperback book stuck in your ass (plus you're fairly sure that if you tried climbing into his sacred smut stack he'd slap you for somehow slutting up his quadrants).

“Your ignorance is so fucking astounding that half-wits everywhere are currently observing a moment of awed silence for it. Now quit yapping your putrid wind hole for second and enjoy the greatest genre ever conceived by sentient beings, you primitive cretin.”

 

That turns out to be a complete and total lie of course, because you hate romcoms enough without them including all of the quadrant and blood caste bullshit.

“Okay, so what’s happening now?” You ask for what feels like the fifteenth time and getting an exasperated snarl in response.

“If I didn’t know your stupidity was 100% natural, I’d think an impaired wriggler had wormed its way inside your thinkpan and died, having no doubt mistaken the empty space between your aural tubes for a grubfucker’s nook.” Karkat says, pointing fiercely at the screen. “The lowblooded suitor is clearly challenging his potential matesprit’s high blooded moirail to prove his worth, inadvertently sparking caliginous feelings in the process. Seeing this as the terrible idea it is, the observing midblood begins to wax ashen, no doubt triggering a hilarious series of shenanigans in his quest to prove that they need to be moderated.”

You only grasp half of that and roll your eyes. When were hateships ever not a bad idea.

“By the low-hanging scrotums of the outer gods, did your guardian drop you sniffnode-first into a tub of noxious paint? For your information, kismesistude is a vital cornerstone of troll culture that you apparently can’t even begin to differentiate from your own colorant-stained taint, much less comprehend.”

Oh hell, you actually said that last bit out loud. Welp.

“Look man, I get that trolls got their polyamorous shit and I’ve had it explained to me before, but it’s just not for me. Like putting them under different labels lets me ignore that I’m having sloppy make-outs with two people or that my mate-whatever is seeing someone else on the side? I can’t just distribute my feelings among people like that, or put them in neatly defined boxes. I've never thought emotions worked that way.” You’re talking with more passion in your voice than you usually allow, and you can tell it’s having a rather unsettling effect.

“Y-you’re talking about transcending quadrants.” Karkat says, looking rather alarmed. “That’s the most ridiculous phlegm-bracelet of words I’ve ever heard strung together in mockery of the noble art of sentence craftsmanship. Next time I want to be painfully assaulted by incoherent babble, I can refrain from shoving a Webster dictionary up my waste chute and vomiting the words in leu of chatting up Dave bulgelicking Strider. Why the ever loving fuck would I ever want to partake in that shit slurry of a mess you humans consider romance?”

“So what if it’s a mess? Think about it, man.” You say, rolling to face him and finding yourself right at his side. “Having one person who makes you feel in ways that can’t be labeled or put in a box. Committed to that one person who can be your everything. Your friend,”

You don’t realize how far you’re leaning over him until his eyes are consuming your field of vision; bright red bleeding into gold.

“your rival,”

Someone kicks the remote, turning off the tv and plunging the room into darkness. You swear you hear him squeak.

“your partner?” You’re way in his space now, but he hasn’t made any move to stop you despite the fact that he’s now breathing like a winded rabbit. “Doesn’t that seem romantic to you?”

You can just feel his breath brushing your chin when Karkat suddenly yelps and shoves you off, clambering out of the book pile. You’re about to apologize when you realize that the cause of his outburst wasn’t actually you.

From the window of his room you can both see the glow of headlights and hear the crunch of gravel in the driveway.

Karkat looks from the window to you, eyes wide and hands twitching in panic.

“Go out the window.”

You can’t help it. You crack the fuck up.

Karkat is unamused.

“Really man? You’re going to keelhaul me out the window to keep daddy from catching me in the process of stealing your precious maidenhood? What is this, one of your god-awful teen flicks?”

“You are a crusty nookstain on the jock strap of my life and I’d boot your pale ass up the chimney if I thought it’d remove you from my sight any quicker!” He says through (adorably blunt) bared fangs, forcefully shoving your backpack into your arms and herding you to the window.

“Whoa, look out for the nubby-horned imp, everyone. He’s 5'3" and on a mission to grope and defenestrate hapless coolkids into his yard.” You say even as you lazily sling one leg over the window sill.

Then you both hear a car door slam shut, and Karkat actually shoves you out the window. Classy. Fortunately living with Bro has prepared you for this scenario more than you’d like to admit, and you manage to pull your momentum into a youth roll across the lawn. You quickly right yourself and fix your shades before anyone can notice they've been knocked up to your forehead, but soon realize that the window’s now shut and you can't even see Karkat anymore.

You shrug and slip along the side of the house, catching sight of the Stabdad himself thumbing through the mail before disappearing inside and wow, adopted or not you can see a resemblance. Yeah, Spades Slick and Karkat are clearly from different species, but everything from their scowls to their stomp to the way they both barely come up to your shoulder is downright uncanny.

With a shake of your head you adjust your bag and put some distance between you and the gangster’s house. It’s not until you’re safely shut inside your lame truck that you let yourself replay the night’s events in your head. You think about the proximity between Karkat’s body and your own, the flush of red across his face and can’t help but wonder just what might’ve happened next if you hadn’t been cockblocked by his dad’s godawful timing.

Maybe its safer to move forward than you’d thought.

* * *

**== > Be Karkat again**

You heard the car door slam shut and just like that, you proceeded to freak the fuck out (in a manner that you would repeatedly and rightfully insist was 100% justified) before actually shoving him the rest of the way out the window. You felt your face burning and didn’t even bother to see how Strider stuck the landing- you’ve seen him show off enough in gym class and had no doubt that whatever flashy maneuver he pulled on the way down would only serve to infuriate you more. 

You run a hand through your eternally rumpled hair and take a moment to collect yourself. This whole fucking day had gone tits-up from the moment you agreed to be Strider’s partner, with everything just degrading from there. 

What the hell was he playing at? As if he didn't know that his presence was like rubbing your face in what a tool you'd been ever since he'd first made his pretentious way into Terezi’s affections. You internally groaned at the memory of how you’d seethed and sulked and waited for them to get together and inevitably fall apart like a stupid wriggler. You’d managed to get your head out of your nook and mend things with her, but after all the bitterness and rage you seemed to have exhausted your right to red feelings. You figured that Strider or no, you just didn’t deserve her and moved on. Things had since settled into a comfortable, if sometimes awkward friendship, but it was more than you deserved for how you acted. 

You’d never been able to bring yourself to trust Strider though, not even after things between him and Terezi took on more platonic overtones, instead choosing to resent how he’d irrevocably wormed his way into your group of friends. It’s only because John Egbert, flakey wonder boy that he is, decided at the last minute to pair up with Jade for the project that you got stuck hosting that jerk in your home at all. Kanaya and Lalonde were joined at the hip these days, and when given the choice between you and Aradia, Sollux chose the partner more likely to enthusiastically do the whole thing themselves. The whole situation had left you with Dave “sunglasses-at-night, what-a-douchebag” Strider, and a deep mourning for your pathetic excuse for a social circle.

You jump violently when you hear your old man shouting for you from downstairs, and fuck does his voice carry. You try to walk as casually as possible when you head down to the kitchen to see him rutting around in the fridge with that creepy metal arm of his.

“What?” You ask, sounding even more irritable than usual on account of exhaustion.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, you little shit. Where’s the food?” He demands like he doesn’t know the two of you have lived on tv dinners since the beginning of fucking time.

“Frozen.” 

“Well un-freeze it, already.” He grabs a beer and turns around, getting his first good look at you. “The hell happened to you?”

You take a moment to realize just how flushed and winded you probably look following your near heart attack and confusing interactions with Strider- the latter of which you were trying your damnedest not to think about right now. Asshole was just trying to get to you, and like hell you were going to let him succeed.

“Nothing. What happened to you?” You say back like the smooth communicator you are.

Slick scrutinizes you for a moment, eye narrowing before he huffs and continues on his way.

“Whatever. Just quit jerking it for ten minutes and do your fucking homework.”

“Ngfh- DAD!” But he’s already slamming the office door shut, leaving you to slump with a red face and pounding head onto the counter. 

At least you’d actually gotten most of the fucking project done.

* * *

 Your dad actually stays home for the entire weekend, something that hasn’t happened in recent memory. Hell, the drunken fool didn’t even leave for the bar with the Crew last night like he usually does on Saturday evenings. The two of you have been toeing around each other, not having anything to say but not really minding the other’s company either. It’s a delicate balance that allows two people of your dispositions to live together, you suppose. 

It’s Sunday morning when the doorbell goes off, and you know it’s not the Crew because even they usually have the decency to call before just barging in using their keys. 

You poke your head over the stairwell, knowing from experience that your dad answering the door never bodes well. Hell, he usually leaves it ringing until you get off your ass and do it. He must be feeling unusually proactive today- either that or he’s forgotten that the mail doesn’t come on Sunday and he really wants to get that restraining order. 

Irritation is replaced with surprise when you see a group of college kids in audaciously colored clothes on the door step.

“The fuck are you?”

“We’re here on a delivery, mister!” One of the girls says, impressively unfazed by your dad’s glare. “Is there a… ‘Karkat’? At this address?”

You can just glimpse her holding up a large basket with a notecard in her hand, having by now slunk down the stairs.

“Yeah. What the hell is going on?” You ask, feet carrying you forward with some sort of sick curiosity.

“Candygram!” The girl grins and hands you the basket, which is full of expensive-looking chocolate and confetti.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks?” You say, ready to close the door and abscond.

“Wait! We still have to sing!”

Ooooh _nooo_.

“No, you really don-“

Oh god one of them has a boom box.

And it’s at that point that you feel a sense of mourning, a sense of complete and utter despair for the inevitable loss of your mind, your dignity, your faith in sentient life divine or otherwise, and a sizable chunk of your soul. It’s horrible. It's painful.

It’s evil.

It’s Candyman by Christina Aguilera.

By the time it’s over, you’re vaguely aware that you and your dad are frozen with near-identical expressions of shock and horror; albeit with you leaning towards the ‘revolted’ end of the scale whereas your dad is firmly planted at ‘enraged.’

You can’t help but instinctively lean out of the way when his face pulls into an ugly snarl.

“Get. _OUT_.”

The kids take their cheery leave, one of them even having the fucking _gall_ to wave and wish you a good day. Mocking you and no doubt knowing that their bright saccharine faces will be haunting your nightmares from here to the Furthest fucking shit-Ring on your load gaper.

Slick slams the door shut and snatches the candy from you with his other hand.

“Hey! I fucking earned that, asshole!”

He responds with a stream of swears, stomps into his office and from the sound of it, barricades the door shut with his coffee table before blasting one of his jazz records in a futile attempt to wash out the memories.

You stand there in the foyer for a moment, internally catching up with the mindfuckery of an abomination that has just taken place here. With a hand on your throbbing temple, you spot a letter that must have fallen from the basket, stooping down and unfolding it.

It’s a pretty horrible poem written with a bunch of godawful  candy puns, but the signature at the bottom leaves little doubt as to the culprit, if there was any at all.

Your eyes narrow, and the growl begins low in your throat as you raise your shaking fist to the sky.

" _STRRIIIIIIIDDEEEERRRR!_ ”

* * *

 Your dad and you are now sitting on the sofa, dinners on your laps in front of the tv because you haven’t eaten in the dining room in years, and neither of you have mentioned the Candygram Incident since this morning. His scowl is much more prominent and he’s eating like he’s imagining the canned ravioli is the singers’ eyes or some shit, but you’d expected him to say something by now. 

This must be what post-traumatic stress is like.

There’s probably a better way to break the silence, but tact has never been a strong suit of yours.

“So where’s my candy?” Is the best you’ve got.

He pauses, slowly grinding his teeth and looking like the food’s gone spontaneously sour in his mouth. 

“Check the fireplace.”

“Fucking seriously?”

He grunts and goes back to eating, ignoring you in favor of looking at the news broadcast. The anchor lady is talking about some new gang running around the city, but considering your dad gets all the information he cares to know from Droog, that’s basically his equivalent of staring at a blank wall until you get the message. 

“Fine.” You plonk your bowl on the table like you’re not the one who’ll be picking it up later because if it were up to your dad it’d fossilize before making its way to the sink, and loudly go up to your room like the huffy teen you are.

The first thing you do is go to your husktop, which you’ve been watching in wait all day now. You finally see his status marked as ‘online’ and feel a fresh pulse of rage surge through your veins.

 

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --  
CG: YOU ARE A REVOLTING CLUMP OF WOOFBEAST EXCREMENT PERSISTENTLY SMEARING ITSELF ACROSS THE SOLE OF MY SHOE THE MORE I TRY TO SCUFF IT OFF ONTO THE HOT PAVEMENT.  
TG: oh hey you got my candygram  
TG: did they do the dance  
TG: they promised they would do the dance  
TG: paid extra for that shit  
CG: OH THEY DID THE DANCE.  
CG: THERE WERE MULTICOLORED GYRATIONS ALL OVER THE LAWNRING.  
CG: PERFECTLY IN TUNE WITH THEIR GODAWFUL KARAOKE MIX AND MY DESPERATE RETCHING IN THE BACKGROUND.  
CG: I SUSPECT EVERYONE ON MY STREET WILL BE REQUIRING EXTENSIVE THERAPY THANKS TO THIS LITTLE EPISODE. BETTER CALL UP LALONDE AND SEE ABOUT A GROUP DISCOUNT.  
CG: IT MADE ME PHYSICALLY ILL TO BEAR WITNESS. AND YET, LIKE A BLAZING INFERNO THAT SWALLOWS ALL YOU KNOW AND HOLD DEAR, I COULDN’T LOOK AWAY.  
TG: only the best for you babe  
CG: MOTHER OF ALL FUCKS  
CG: MY FATHER WAS HOME, YOU WORTHLESS SMEAR OF GENETIC DISCHARGE. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THAT SHIT?  
TG: i can see how might be awkward  
TG: whatd he say  
TG: …  
TG: yo man you still there  
CG: NOTHING. HE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. NO DOUBT SHOCKED INTO AN INTERNAL ARREST OF SOME KIND. I FULLY EXPECT HIM TO REGAIN CONTROL OF HIS FACULTIES AND BARGE IN HERE AT ANY MOMENT. HOLDING ME AT KNIFE POINT AND DEMANDING THAT THE ABOMINABLE MONSTER RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT DANCE OF TERRORS BE PRESENTED FOR IMMEDIATE AND PAINFUL STABBY JUSTICE.  
TG: nice of you to be concerned for my safety  
CG: FUCK YOU AND YOUR FACE.  
CG: WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT CONVERTS CARBON DIOXIDE INTO OXYGEN WOULD YOU BLIGHT MY HOME WITH SUCH A HORRENDOUS DISPLAY? BECAUSE IF IT WAS TO EARN MY ETERNAL IRE AND RESENTMENT, MISSION FUCKING ACCOMPLISHED. SHITSUCKER.  
TG: nah that wasnt what i was going for at all  
TG: you see i thought about that talk we had on friday and ive been thinking  
TG: i may have been a little too subtle  
CG: SUBTLE. YOU? ALLOW ME TO SCOFF AT THE MIND NUMBING STUPIDITY OF THAT WORD WHEN APPLIED TO YOUR ATTENTION-WHORING SHAME GLOBES.  
CG: WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO EVEN IMPLY A SHADOW OF SUBTLETY TOO?  
TG: well duh  
TG: you and me karkat  
CG: YOU AND ME WHAT.  
TG: …  
TG: <3  
CG: NO  
CG: NO NO  
TG: oh yeah  
TG: you me man  
TG: wanna stand with you on a mountain  
TG: bathe with you in the sea   
CG: I KNOW SONG LYRICS WHEN I HEAR THEM, ASSHOLE.  
TG: youre right   
TG: youre at least worth an original  
TG: hold on i think i got something  
CG: DONT YOU DARE START SPEWING THE RADIOACTIVE BILGE YOU DEIGN TO CALL SLAM POETRY AT ME, STRIDER!  
CG: I’M MURDEROUS ENOUGH AS IT IS.  
CG: FUCK YOU WITH MULTIPLE RUSTY IMPLEMENTS. I'M BEING FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW, AND YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DISTRACT ME WITH YOUR RIDICULOUS TANGENTS.  
TG: no joke bro  
TG: this is redder than egberts ass after i finish kicking it at mariokart.   
TG: its your face levels of flushed up in here  
CG: MY FACE IS NOT FLUSHED.  
TG: shh its ok  
TG: i was gonna take this a little easier  
TG: build it up and get a slow burn going  
TG: in your heart  
TG: but a dude could die of old age before you got the picture because for someone so transparent youre remarkably dense you know  
TG: i started getting jealous of goddamn captor of all people  
TG: and then i realized how thick your head was and just how long this could take  
TG: not that your ignorance isnt adorable in its own right  
TG: but aint nobody got time for that  
CG: MY GODS  
CG: EVERY SYLLABLE YOU UTTER IS EVEN MORE OUTRAGEOUS THAN THE LAST. YOU’RE TOPPING YOUR OWN BULLSHIT RECORDS NOW, STRIDER. NO ONE’S EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO CATCH UP. YOU ARE NOW UNDOUBTEDLY THE STOOL-SPEWING CHAMPION. IT’S YOU.  
CG: I’M GOING TO HAVE TO HIKE UP MY PANTS AND WADE THROUGH THIS EXCREMENT LIKE AN INTREPID EXPLORER SCOURING THE DEEP TRENCHES OF YOUR WASTE IN AN ATTEMPT TO FIND SOME ANCIENT, CRAP-FOSSILIZED FRAGMENT OF TRUTH.  
CG: ASSUMING I’VE DECIDED TO PLAY ALONG, FOR JUST HOW LONG WOULD THESE HYPOTHETICAL RED FEELINGS OF YOURS HAVE EXISTED?  
TG: hm  
TG: what day is it  
CG: IT'S SUNDAY. I LITERALLY THREW YOU OUT MY RESPITEBLOCK TWO DAYS AGO!  
TG: about a year  
CG: AND ANOTHER LANDSLIDE OF BULLSHIT SLOSHES INTO THE RIVER OF FECES CONTINUOUSLY FLOWING FROM DAVE STRIDER’S FILTHY MOUTH.  
CG: WHOOP THERE GOES MY FOOTING.  
CG: GONNA NEED A BOAT IF I’M EVER TO RESURFACE FROM THIS WARM FROTHY CURRENT OF PUTRID LIES.  
CG: I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO BELIEVE YOU COULD EVEN PRETEND TO BE THAT SHY, NOR THAT MENTALLY IMPAIRED WITHOUT CURRENTLY HAVING YOUR DROOL MOPPED UP AT THE NEAREST SANITARIUM.  
TG: no man not shy  
TG: subtle  
CG: THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE DUMBEST CONVERSATION I’VE EVER HAD, AND THAT INCLUDES THE TIME AMPORA THOUGHT HEADLIGHT FLUID WAS A REAL FUCKING THING.  
TG: come on karkat you know you cant resist  
TG: i sent you a goddamn candygram were practically halfway married now  
CG: AND THE MEMORY WILL BE FOREVER ENGRAVED IN ME AND MY FATHER’S THINKPANS FOR MANY FUTURE NIGHT TERRORS TO COME.  
TG: you know me  
TG: go big or go home  
CG: THAT’S A GREAT IDEA.  
CG: GO HOME AND FUCKING STAY THERE UNTIL YOU’RE READY TO APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR COMPLETE AND ABJECT DUMBASSERY.  
CG: BECAUSE EVEN EGBERT’S SORRY ATTEMPTS AT “PRANKS” HAVE MORE MERIT THAN THE ABOMINATION THAT HAS TAKEN PLACE TODAY.  
CG: GOOD FUCKING NIGHT, YOU INTOLERABLE AND MOLDY SPUNKSPONGE.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked turntechGodhead [TG] --  
TG: welp  
TG: time for stage two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking to myself: 'How would you like to avoid schoolwork today?' And I responded, 'Well, how about writing a massive two-shot; never mind that this is my first real fanfic, it's for a very lovely and well-respected AU, and that I'll likely be embarrassing myself to the internets and Homestuck fandom. That sounds nice. Oh hey, what's the most cringe-worthy ironic gift you can think of?'  
> This is my life. These are my choices. Yeah.  
> (psst and you can come say hi to me at my tumblr, wisp-queen)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned! Sorry for the huge delay. In short, school sucks.  
> It really, really does.  
> There shouldn't be so much of a wait for the next one though! It just turns out this thing is gonna be longer than I expected. 
> 
> Wow I took on a lot of new characters here. I've never written any of these guys before so pardon me if it's not that great. :P

**== > Jade Harley: Assist friend**

“You’re kind of a dumbass.” You say helpfully, spritzing water on the potted plants.

The flower store is closed at the moment, but you still like to stop in before school to tidy things up. It saves time for homework or rest when you arrive after school, and honestly you just find it really calming!

Dave’s here too, sitting at the desk and watching you work while he rambles about his love life. Once you realized he had a crush on Karkat, you’d been so excited! Aaaand then you realized that Dave being Dave and Karkat being Karkat meant that this whole endeavor was doomed if someone with sense didn’t get involved.

Guess that’s you.

“No no, you’re not getting it.” Dave said, adjusting his shades. “I’ve got this so far down in the bag that I can’t even see it. You don’t even know.”

“Dave, you’re just going to make Karkat uncomfortable.” You say. “Why can’t you just talk to him like a normal person? It’s like you don’t _want_  him to take you seriously!”

Your name is Jade Harley and you can see the writing on the wall. No matter how cool Dave likes to pretend he is, he’s a dork who cares about what other people think. As much as he talks about ‘going big’ you know he’s afraid he’ll do just that and get shot down. Hence the goofy gestures of ‘affection’ that, if anyone calls out, can easily be deflected with his usual irony defense.

It’s such bullshit.

Karkat’s not much better though, you muse as you pull out the wrapping for a bouquet. He’s stubborn and self-loathing, neither of which is a good combination with Dave’s evasive nature.

You sigh in sympathy for these two stupid boys of yours and begin picking out the nicest pink lilies and white tulips you can find.

“Whoa, there. I thought we were gonna play to the classics. Make a statement.”

“Trust me, these will go over better. You present him with red roses in front of the whole school, and he’s going to freak out.”

You can tell he’s pouting behind his shades, and honestly don’t give a crap. You shake your head before tying the whole thing together.

Dave reaches out to take them, and you withhold at the last minute.

“You have to promise not to be a jerk.”

“Harley, don’t even start with me. I’m the goddamn romance master; undergrown trolls are just dropping their frumpy trousers left and right in my wake.”

You try very hard not to laugh at him, and fail.

“This would be a lot easier if you weren’t such a dick.” You say, trying to look serious and stop snickering.

“Dick road runs two ways, Jade. He’s not exactly been offering me free hugs or doves eating olive branches.”

“So you’re both idiots, fine. Now what’re you going to do about it?”

“Like I said. Gonna woo the fuck out of him.”

“Ugh, _promise_  me you won’t fuck things up. If this goes south I’m not going to have you blaming it on my flowers, got it?” You say. “You’ve scared Karkat enough. Time to act like the half-decent guy I know you can be.”

He makes a big beleaguered sigh and show of rolling his concealed eyes, but you know he’s just doing it to save face because he nods.

“Yeah, yeah sure. Just give em to me.”

“You could be nicer, considering I’m not charging you.” You stick out your tongue, but give him the flowers anyway. 

He’s lucky you ship it.

* * *

 You pretend to be surprised along with everyone else when Dave gives Karkat the flowers. You actually have to hand it to him- he had the decency to pull the troll aside and present the gift in private rather than dropping on one knee in the middle of the cafeteria like you’d expected him to (though you suspect that might have been close to his original plan, had you not spoken to him).

Still, the fact that the bouquet had gone from his hands in the morning to Karkat’s in the afternoon did not go unnoticed by the student body, and the poor troll was burning red all day. Karkat was a fan of flying below the radar as much as he was allowed by his blood status and father’s reputation, but Dave was a pretty popular guy. He may have only hung out with a small group, but his (totally fakey-fake) cool kid persona had gained him no shortage in admirers. Fortunately you were tall for your age, and your proficiency with firearms was enough to quietly discourage the flocks of catty teenagers from making anything harder than it needed to be. You had a lot of fun leaning on walls and looking surly today. 

Dave seemed to be in a good mood as well, a hint of a smile actually present on his otherwise carefully blank face. Eventually you manage to prod some intel out of him.

“We’re just going to hang out this Friday. Go to the fair and laugh at how uncool it is.”

He tries to sound passive, but you smiled and let him know you saw straight through it. 

Boys were so silly sometimes.

* * *

**== > Be a hardcore gangster**

You would, but it’s pretty damn hard to concentrate with the sickly smell of burnt chocolate clogging up your office. You eye the blackened smear at the bottom of the fireplace and grudgingly admit that you hadn’t quite thought that move through. 

It was better than just leaving that crap around the house, but you’d forgotten that you were stuck in this place for the whole weekend. Sure, there was security, but you couldn’t leave the place unattended when there was your dumbass kid to consider.

You sweep an appraising eye over the house, looking out for taps or hints of intrusion that might have occurred earlier. 

There’s been a new gang in the city, muscling in on Crew territory and sending threats your way like it’d make people take them seriously. They’re a bunch of young and stupid rookies, but still bold and desperate enough to put a hit on your kid in the hopes that it would get them some credibility if you backed down. You’d thought it was a big joke, but one of Droog’s contacts had reported word that some hitman had indeed been called on to do the job.

Just what you fucking needed.

You mutter about disrespectful brats and dumbshit gangs, circling back to the front door and beginning to root through the coat closet.

Wait. The hell was that?

The thing was bright red, so you knew it wasn’t something Karkat would ever get himself on account of him being a massive pansy about his blood color. It had the image of a giant record on the front, so you also knew you’d never have bought it either on account of not wanting your kid to look like a complete douchebag.

You give the offending article a cynical once-over and spot the tag sewn into the neck of the jacket. ’D. Strider’ is scrawled across it in black felt marker. 

Strider. You wrack your brain as to where you’ve heard that name for a few minutes before it finally comes to you.

Wasn’t there a freelance hitman that went by that name a while back? Yeah, he was on the list of the city’s ‘notable names’ that Droog seemed to tote around the inside of his noggin. From what you’d heard the guy had been largely inactive for the past few years, so you’d mostly put the information out of your mind, like most of the things Droog said.

He’d had a reputation for being one weird son of a bitch; demanding strange forms of payment over cash and generally being an asshole to his employers. Fucking figures that kind of jackass would try to traumatize as well as poison your kid via that mindfuck of a display yesterday. Add insult to injury, huh? Well you’d fucking see about that.

* * *

 “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Slick.” Droog says, sitting in your office that afternoon.

You’d called and had him pick up Karkat along with his daughter, the two of whom had been rummaging through the cabinets for something edible the last you’d seen.

Droog doesn’t make any attempt at hiding his disdain for the state of your house, his gaze lingering on the fireplace for a moment longer than necessary. Stuck up bastard.

“Ain’t nothing to jump to. There’s a hit on my kid’s head and the psycho out to fill it left the evidence in my own goddamn house.”

“I hardly think someone of his caliber would be that sloppy. Or that short.”

You’re not sure what the hell Droog is implying with that last bit, considering the owner of the jacket would still probably be taller than you, so you fix him with a hard glare that he completely ignores.

“I’ll look into it, but from what Aradia’s told me, Karkat’s the one you should be talking to about this particular matter.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Droog shrugs in that vague way you’ve come to loathe, snubbing out his cigarette in your ash tray. He stands, smoothes his suit and takes his leave, catching Aradia on the way out before she and Karkat can try eating peanut butter out of the jar.

You wait for the door to close.

“Hey, kid.”

Karkat turns from the stairwell with his usual smartass scowl.

“Yeah?”

“You know anyone named Strider?” You get right to it, not having the patience for anything Droog would call tact.

The effect is fucking immediate- the kid’s lighting up like a match, eyes suddenly intent on looking anywhere but at you. The hell has he been up to?

“The fuck does it matter?”

“It matters ‘cause I say it does.” 

He seethes, but you both know you can out-glare the little snot any day of the week and he soon backs down again, fists clenched at his sides.

“A guy from school.”

“What guy?”

“Just some guy! Jesus.”

Your eye catches a vase of flowers that certainly wasn’t there before, and although Droog is known for leaving soap around as part of his passive-aggressive quest to make you clean, flowers seem like much even for him.

Fuck what Sleuth says, you are an investigative genius.

“You fucking him?”

“NNGHF- NO! Goddammit, dad!” Karkat’s grinding the heel of his palm into one of his eyes, teeth clenched together like he’s trying not to spontaneously combust.

“You had the bastard in my house. He try to get in your pants?” You haven't killed a kid since you were one, but now you’re treading dangerously close. Whether he’s involved in his family business or not, whoever this guy is he’d better pray you don’t bump into him in a dark alley. “No kid of mine’s going to be anyone’s bitch.”

“What the crotch-blistering hell of a fuck is _wrong_  with you!?”

Karkat seems to have reached his breaking point, snarling through his teeth and storming up the stairs.

“Don’t you walk away from me, you ungrateful brat! I’m not done talking to you!”

“You’re an asshole!” Is the last thing you hear before the bedroom door slams shut.

Goddamn kids. 

* * *

**== > Karkat: have a tantrum and a flashback**

The first thing you do after kicking your door shut is block it with your desk. It’s not much, but your dad’s a short guy and it’ll give you some warning if he tries barging in. You flop face-down into your pile, cheeks hot and eyes starting to sting with repressed tears of embarrassment and rage.

They’re leaving pink stains on some of the paper covers. Shit.

With a shaky sigh you wriggle deeper into the pile, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Surrounding yourself with these tomes used to be a comfort; tales of romance that filled you with optimism and excitement. The books that usually brought you such security now seemed to be mocking you, because either your courtship (god, were you seriously buying Strider’s game now?) was completely deviant from the ideal, or the stories and romantic standards that you’d held so dear had either been lies the whole time or something you, in all your fucked up glory, are just incapable of meeting.

And what was to blame for this emotional breakdown in your already pathetic feeling nodules? You grit your teeth in frustration just thinking about it.

-

_“What the ever loving fuck do you want, Strider.” You’d grumbled earlier that day, having been dragged to a quiet corner of the school. “Here I was under the beautiful delusion that I’d be allowed to avoid you until we reached the unspoken agreement to never mention your recent behavior for the sake of salvaging what’s left of our dignity.”_

_“Nope. Sorry bro, permission denied.” He’d said, abhorrent shades catching the light. “I’m nowhere near done here yet.”_

_“Do I even want to know what the bile spitting hell you’re talking about? Haha, Dave so-cool-he-shits-ice Strider managed to get one over on me. The fuck else do you wa-”_

_And then he’d gotten out a handful of gogdamn flowers, holding them out to you and making your next tirade die in your throat._

_“So listen; there’s this fair thing on Friday, probably going to be super lame, but I thought that it might be a laugh to at least check out.”_

_“I’m not interested in your stupid irony, you poor deluded fuck.” You said, voice flatter than intended as you were still fixated on the flowers._

_They actually smelled really nice._

_“That’s cause you haven’t tried it! Come on, I’ll pay and everything. Show you a good time. How bout it?” He shook the bouquet a little, trying to coax out an answer._

_You finally forced yourself to look up, at his face and his goddamn grin, and felt your cheeks warming up._

_“… You’re paying?”_

-

You groan and roll over in the pile again, brought back to the present. This whole thing was downright bizarre. After all, you don’t pity Strider. What’s to pity? He’s a self-indulgent jackass who gets off on his own voice. And yet, he’d managed to invoke these… reactions.

It was all wrong.

Damn him for making this so fucking confusing, and damn your old man too for being a jackass (no surprise on either account because you’re surrounded by more tools than a hardware store employee taking inventory).

Eventually you fish out your phone and try dialing Kanaya, hoping she’s not too busy to deal with you. Your pale flirtations have been tentative at best and this is a pretty fucking bold move on your part, but you really want to hear her voice right now.

She wordlessly listens to you babble nonsensically about your pile and your dad and your anxiety about ~~Dave~~ Strider, and promptly informs you that she’s on her way. It’s a few moments after hanging up that you realize what you’ve just done and begin to frantically set about making your respiteblock presentable. Your desk is righted and your now-useless books stacked off to the side, leaving the floor looking eerily bare. 

You’ve just about slapped a clumsy pile of clean clothes together when you hear the doorbell ring, followed by your dad’s loud cursing as he goes to answer. Kanaya’s here, and she seems to have brought her dad to keep yours busy.

You’ve never been more pale for her than in that moment.

She brings various fabrics and articles of clothing you suspect she’s been looking for an excuse to make you wear to help with your pile situation. They’re not really yours and it’s not a permanent solution, but they smell like her and are insanely comfortable to lie on.

The two of you sit there for a moment before she begins hesitantly running her fingers through your hair, and you relax into the touch.

“I’m just confused.” You say, deciding it’s your obligation to get this feelings jam started as the initiator. “Strider’s douchebaggery is supposed to be a goddamn universal constant. The sun rises, the wind blows, and Dave Strider is a smug cock hydrant.”

“People are not always what they seem, Karkat.” Kanaya says, voice melodic and soothing.

“But if I’m wrong about that, who knows what else I’ve fucked up on? Good lord, maybe Serket’s not a bitch Ampora’s not a bilgesucker. Who can fucking say!?”

She leans in closer, and her lower body temperature makes you feel less feverish.

“Is what has you so concerned really that Dave is more than you expected? Or are you afraid of getting your hopes up and being disappointed?”

“I can’t let him trick me. If this is all some kind of game, I swear I’m going to pirouette off the fucking handle and swan dive into the floor, bashing my head in until the memory of this clusterfuck has diminished into a faint night terror.”

You feel the word vomit roll off your tongue, but with Kanaya here is lacks any of its usual vitriol. You just sound as tired as you feel.

“Although I can’t speak for Mr. Strider, I really don’t think such a deception is in his nature. Awkward to behold flirtations perhaps, but not actions of this magnitude.” Kanaya says.

“It doesn’t matter.” You grumble. “He doesn’t believe in kismesistude, he told me. He wants that weird human romance.”

“And you don’t think you can give him that.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, Kanaya! There’s no order, no structure, just all these gogdamn _feelings_  that don’t even have any names!” You say. “Even if I was willing to give up on having a kismesis, I’ve no grubfucking idea where to start with him in a relationship like that.”

“If I may be frank, you’re not exactly a standing expert on matespritship either.”

“Yes, thank you for pointing out another foundation of my world that has been eroded away by this shitlicking week of horror.”

“I’m merely saying that one should have an open mind in these affairs. It’s not so uncommon these days for trolls to embrace the single concupiscent quadrant system of the humans.”

You chew your lips anxiously but Kanaya rubs a thumb over them before you can pierce the skin.

“This is ridiculous. Gamzee’s phony religion-levels of ridiculous. I’m not considering compromising my quadrants for _Dave fucking Strider._  Hell, I wouldn’t even date him without the exclusivity bullshit, assuming he was even serious about it at all.“

“It is of course up to you.” Kanaya says. “But I think you should at least spend some more time with him first.”

You slump a little further down into the pile, resting your head against her lap.

“I guess. I’ve already said yes anyway, no way I’m backing out like a grub with a malformed spinal column.”

“Good.” She says, papping your cheek. “And if you’re interested, I have a few ideas on what you could wear…”

You manage a laugh, feeling lighter and more at ease than you have all day. 

* * *

**== > Bro: Meddle**

You’re Bro Strider and something's up with Dave. He doesn’t think you’ve noticed, even though he should know better by now.

You see everything.

You see the way he walks through the apartment door with a dopey smirk he probably doesn’t even realize he’s wearing and practically dances his way to the fridge.

“Sup bro.” There’s more emotion in his voice than he usually allows in your presence, and you almost believe he’s happy to see you.

But nope, Dave just grabs an apple juice and locks himself away in his room, never even sparing you a glance. Hell, he doesn’t even react to how you’d positioned Cal right in front of the door, so the first thing he did was make eye contact when he got in. He didn’t even flinch.

Something’s up, and what kind of bro would you be if you didn’t find out what? A pretty damn shoddy one, in your opinion.

You’ve got secret passages and trapdoors set up all over the apartment, partly for security but mostly to keep Dave on his toes. You know you could probably use your tech savvy to invade Dave’s privacy virtually, but you wanna be a ninja instead. So you worm your way through the walls and steal his backpack right from behind where he’s sitting at the computer. Even without his headphones on, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Putting the panel of his ceiling back in place, you scoot into the vent of the living room and rifle through Dave’s shit. 

It’s mostly crumpled school sheets- heh, even a poorly done quiz or two he’s been trying to hide from you; you’ll have to strife him for that later- before you find a relatively new flyer for some fair that’s going on this week. How quaint.

You find Dave’s iPhone in the side pocket and start fiddling with the calendar. “6:30- fuck yeah date with karkat” has been recently added for this Friday. Jackpot.

The kid’s still logged into Facebook through his phone, so it’s easy as hell to shuffle through his friends list until you find a cranky-looking troll dude with the shortest horns you’ve ever seen. You figured from the name that it would be a troll, but that’s not what’s bothering you.

You recognize this kid.

About a week ago you’d been approached by some thug in a bar who wanted you to take out a gangster’s son, but you told him that even before changing professions you didn’t accept jobs involving kids. You’ve been subtly withdrawing from that scene over the years since Dave came along, preferring to make a less complicated living with your smuppets. Killing was for when you were younger, dumber and meaner than the world of guardianship allowed. There had still been the odd job if the pay was good enough, but ever since the Felt started shelling out a metric shit ton of money for regular smuppet shipments, Dave’s trust fund had never been more secure.

But that’s a story for another time.

Your main concern is that your little bro is aiming to get his sloppy makeouts on with a walking target. The gang that came to you was pretty unseasoned and if the job had been anyone else you’d be tempted to take it just to screw them over. As it was, they’d probably either found a decent hitman with looser standards who was now about to rip them off, or gotten some dumbass rookie and were too stupid to know better. The amount of idiots in this business was staggering, honestly.

The Midnight Crew aren’t idiots, at least not entirely, and you’d been confident enough that they’d look out for their own until everything blew over. You can’t count on them doing the same for Dave if he gets caught in the crossfire, though.

Once again, meddling with your brother’s shit saves the day. Damn, you’re awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**> Karkat: Be Grounded**

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you’re groun-

“Fuck no I’m not grounded! Screw you!”

After Kanaya and Sleuth left you with a sloshed stabdad and what you assume to be a drying liquor cabinet, things between you and him had been tense all week. You’ve been picked up after school by a different member of the Crew and shuttled straight home every day, which hadn’t really bothered you that much until you’d tried to leave for your, uh, date. After finding your way to the front door blocked, your dad had all but forced you into the car, ignoring all protests and driving you to one of the Crew’s bunkers. You haven’t been in any of these for a while, not since you and the other Crew kids were wrigglers and not trusted to be left alone for too long. The safe room walls are still tacked with crayon drawings of varying quality, and it’s a god damn insult to be thrown in here again.

“You bet your scrawny ass you’re grounded.” Your dad says. “Now I’ve got shit to do and no time to waste making sure you don’t fuck up, so just stay in here ‘till I get back.”

“And do what!?”

“I don’t know, color or some shit! Christ.” He slams the door so hard that three drawings drop off the wall.

The door locks from the inside, but you’re pretty sure you hear every heavy piece of furniture in the other room being pushed over and shutting you in. 

Son of a bitch.

You glance at the clock on your phone and realize that if you don’t get out of here soon, Strider’s going to start thinking you stood him up, and for some reason that prospect doesn’t sit well with you. With an irritable huff you drop into the nearby sofa. So you had a guy over, so fucking what? Trust your dad to overreact. Thankfully you'd been able to fire off a text before getting shoved in here.

Speaking of Dave, your interactions at school hadn't actually been wildly different from the norm. He still teased you about inane things and you still snarked back, but everything had lot its bite since Monday. It was kinda nice, now that you knew not to get pissed off at every stupid thing he said. The popular crowd was acting rather cold, a distinct change from when they ignored your presence entirely, but you’d never given two shits about their opinions before anyway. The point was that you were starting to get the uneasy feeling that dating Strider might not be as strange and horrible as previously advertised. Not that it mattered if you were stuck in here and never even got to the first date at all.

You give another fussy glance at the time, wondering what the fuck your dad thinks he's doing and what the odds are that he'll forget you're in here.

* * *

 

**> Slick: Answer the door.**

You feel your features pull into a grimace at the sound of someone trying to knock right through the front door, having built a reflexive disgust for anything that reminds you of the goddamn candygram incident. After dropping the kid off at the bunker, you returned to the house to gather your things, preparing to finish this whole debacle once and for all. Sleuth says he may have a lead on who to talk to about this hit job, and even though you don't like outside help with Crew affairs (if you hadn't been out-of-your-mind drunk at the time you still may have refused) but you'll make an exception just this once. After Sleuth and his daughter left, the night had become a hazy blur, but apparently you'd agreed to let him arrange a meeting for you in the inner city.

The knocking gets even more urgent, and you're inclined to keep ignoring them out of spite. Whoever it is can calm the fuck down. Ugh, everyone in the Crew had a key, and even those candy-toting abominations had the decency to use the doorbell so the only person you can possibly think of to be there would be the mail-

oh. OH.

_Oh no._

You're caught between the urge to peek around the corner to the foyer or hide under your desk just as the door is messily forced open.

"JACK! Goddammit I know you're in here, that ridiculous hearse is still parked out front!"

Ffffffffuck.

"Really mother, I have to protest at this turn of events. Breaking and entering is a legitimate trigger for many individuals, particularly those for whom the home is considered a most-"

Oh fuckfuckfuck and she brought the other one too. Why the hell is she here!?

You quickly run down what you might have done recently to warrant this. You may have purposely ordered a few things you didn't need and pretended not to be home just to annoy her when she came looking for your signature, but this was a bit extreme of a response. 

Your other kid (he should be in college, what the fuck) is turning off the silent alarm Droog set up, and you'd consider changing it if there was a chance you'd ever remember the new password. Moving as stealthily as you can manage, you've just about made it to the back door when the hall curtains are pulled open, sunlight spilling in.

"Hello, Jack."

Shit.

She's wearing her postal service uniform, like always, only now she's also pointing that three-foot sword she's supposedly too good to use at your face. Really she looks the same as the last time you saw her, only you know, maybe angrier.

"Um. Hey." You stay still, debating the pros and cons of actually duking it out with her.

"Where. Is. Karkat."

She knows, she knows, _fuck how the hell does she always know_ it's like she has some sort of built-in radar that detects your every fuck up and _it's not fair_.

"He's fine."

"Really." Ugh, she's doing that thing with her eyes like she's trying to make you spontaneously combust and burn straight down to your soul and it's so not what you need right now to stay focused.

The only people who know about this situation with Karkat outside the Crew is Team Sleuth, and they wouldn't… oh.

Ms. Paint.

Ms. Paint, who you may have called whilst drunk to tell her you couldn't make it this week because of work, Ms. Paint who you can't even lie to whilst sober, _Ms. Paint who has tea with your ex every Thursday_ ** _what is wrong with you_** -

"I want to know where my son is, and what you did to put him in this kind of danger." Her voice has gone all low and threatening like it does when she's reeeeally pissed and it's bringing back memories.

"Listen Pidge, I've got everything under control." You say, straightening up. "So why don'cha just take Kankri back to school already and-" Okay she's got you by the collar, lording her height over you and it's a dirty tactic you've always hated.

"I am not taking him _anywhere_ I don't know is safe with a madman out there after my children, so now tell me _where the fuck is Karkat!?_ "

"Language, mother." Comes from down the hall and neither of you gives a damn.

"Karkat's _fine_ , I got him locked up tight."

"You what!?" She exclaims, probably having flashbacks of the cat carrier you used to lug the grubs around in.

"He's hanging out in a bunker while I go meet with Sleuth's guy."

"… Sleuth? Does he know something?" She asks, lowering her sword slightly.

"Just has a few names we can shake down for info, which means I really oughta be going-"

PM gives a humorless laugh, driving her sword into the wall between you and the door. No shut up that's not hot.

"If you think I trust you to handle this mess, you're sorely mistaken, Slick."

You want to fight her on it, but really should know better by now.

"Fine. But there's no way the brat's staying here."

"I do hope you're not referring to me father; as a fully grown troll in pursuit of a higher education despite numerous classist odds against me I prefer to be acknowledged as the mature individual I am. Not to mention the term 'brat' has infantilizing connotations, and as so-called 'mutant' bloods such as myself have a history of being treated in a patronizing manner you can see how it can be construed offensively." Kankri says, appearing out of fucking no where. "I don't believe you meant to upset, father, merely that you were unaware of the abliest implications of your words; not altogether surprising considering your chosen lifestyle and level of education."

You give your eldest son the flat, unimpressed look that pile of horseshit deserves before looking to PM.

"I fucking told you those politician friends would screw with his head."

She fixes you with a glare, arms crossed with a mixture of pride and defensiveness. "I've been doing my best to give him a balanced upbringing. He may be… passionate about certain topics and still learning in some regards, but at least he wants to contribute to the good of society. As a _supportive parent_ I encourage him to pursue his interests."

Yeah, son or not if Kankri ever becomes mayor, you're moving to another city.

"Riiight, well neither of you better get in my way."

"I was actually hoping I could join Karkat, since it would be, ah, quite unsavory for me to be interacting with ruffians." Kankri says, plucking a stray speck of dust off his ridiculously vibrant red sweater.

You don't really know how or why he started wearing that fucking thing, especially knowing what a priss the boy is (didn't he say he was a pacifist or something last holiday? Christ). Makes you glad he at least sticks with that seadweller boyfriend of his most of the time, class-A douche that punk may be. Still, few mess with his kind and it gives you a sick kind of amusement to know he's never getting into your eldest's ugly pants.

It's really the little victories that keep you going as far as Kankri's concerned.

"Too fucking bad." You say, yanking your lapels out of PM's grip. "You two have already wasted enough of my time, bunker's the other way and I dunno how long Sleuth's informant will stick around before they rabbit. 'sides, I'm not moving that goddamn furniture again."

 

* * *

 

**> Karkat: Get rescued.**

 

You hear the heavy slam of the door outside, followed by the distinct cussing of your friend and the sound of moving furniture. It’s loud and clumsy (you hear what seems to be the entire bookcase’s contents toppling out and to the floor), but eventually your rescuer pries the door open.

“What the hell, KK?” Sollux says, eyes still glowing. “You send me an ominous as fuck text, make me drive all the way out here to this old shithole and I find a goddamn barricade. What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything you lisping jackass!” You say pushing him aside and climbing over the mess. “Now give me a ride.”

"Whoa now, don't go showering me with that much gratitude. I might just fucking drown."

But you're already gone, scampering over the bunker's crap and heading for the passenger seat of Sollux's car. He follows you soon after, rolling his eyes so hard you want to smack his stupid 3D glasses into them. 

"By the way, were you expecting your mom or something? AA says she sees her car parked outside your place."

"What? Of course not!" You say, wrinkling your nose a little at the idea.

You never really knew what the deal was with your parents, mostly you didn't want to know, but all of their interactions just screamed 'really bad quadrant vacillation' to you. They must have been close at one point to have adopted two grubs together, but honestly you just can't see it. 

"Maybe the old man's been slacking with grub support or something. I don't fucking know. Let's just hope she doesn't see the kitchen and give us another god damn lecture."

"Ha, you're family's so shit."

"Fuck you too." You grumble, remembering that Clubs Deuce was one of those dads that participated in bake sales and still wrote notes in his son's lunch.

It takes some more convincing to get him to take you to the fair, as the more he hears of the story the less sure he is that bailing you out of the bunker was the smartest thing to do. Fuck that. If anyone’s going to be screwing up this date, it’s not going to be you and it’s sure as hell not going to be your old man. You do actually remember to thank Sol before jumping out of his car, though you’re pretty sure he just flipped you off in response before driving off again.

The fair is, as expected, among the tackiest monstrosities you’ve ever seen. You can count at least five different shades of pink mingled with red and white in the overpowering collage of decorations, and there’s no shortage of bright colors and flashing lights as the sun begins to set. Still its warmer than you expected and the food smells good enough, so you adjust your sweater and push through to the ticket booth. Strider’s waiting there, not having spotted you yet. You feel a bit of satisfaction at the mildly nervous jitter in his posture.

“Hey.”

He jumps ever so slightly, but you notice.

“Oh, hey. You made it. Didn’t have to run all the way here on those tiny little legs of yours, did ya?”

“If that’s your pan-meltingly stupid way of asking me why I’m late, I just got held up by my dad. Don’t worry about it.”

“Psh, you know me. Why would I be worried.”

He pays for your ticket, making up some bull about how you probably wouldn't be able to reach the counter anyway, and you vow to kick his ass at every stupid, rigged game as vengeance.

  

* * *

 

**> Slick: Hold it together.**

 

You're trying, really fucking trying, but you're starting to remember how having a family was the absolute worst decision of the glorious mess that was your life, and past you was an idiot for going through with it. 

Having your ex-matesprit ('wife' didn't feel like the right word; even though you'd signed paperwork there'd never been a ceremony or exchanging of names) and son give you their best backseat-driver routine all the way to the pub, which is just on the border of a seedier area of the city. PM carries herself with stern ease, being a tougher dame than many would suspect and probably one of the few postal workers who will make deliveries to the rougher parts of town. Kankri on the other hand sits awkwardly at the end of the bar, twiddling his thumbs because he was too scared to wait in the car. Fuck your life.

Sleuth's 'friend'- probably some crook who owes him a favor- has a table to himself in the corner, looking at you with a mix of nervousness and suspicion.

"Sleuth didn't say you were bringin'… company."

"Mind your own fuckin business." You say, pulling out a seat for your self. "Just tell me what you know before my kid soils himself over there."

"Slick!"

You bat PM away and glare at this guy with all the power your remaining eye gives you.

The Informant glances between you to anxiously. "… Right. Well they're foreigners, young. They started on the outer districts, where the immigrants and junkies are at, and moved in from there. Access to drugs and decent numbers gained them territory pretty quick, but they're lacking in connections, experience, and have a hard time gettin their hands on firearms."

"Hence why they had to hire an outside man." PM said thoughtfully. "They want to establish a reputation but don't quite have the means to do it themselves yet." 

"Indeed, miss." The probably homeless asshole tips his hat at her and you groan.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. So who've they got."

"They put out an open bounty not too long ago. Nothin confirmed o'course, but word has it that some old world group is getting in on it."

Now you just feel like bashing your head into the table. 'Old world' was a term that referred to radical classists who thought trolls ought to go back to the days of culling and legally-enforced hemospectrum superiority. Not something you ever gave two fucks about before you got yourself a mutant son and an excuse to give him bladed weapons.

"Y-you'd be unlikely to find the place of operations for such ilk, father." Kankri's unusually small voice carries over to you before your next question. "They are not so much a gang as a presence; scattered but united by their ideals, probably via the internet. They see themselves as concerned citizens who rally to deal out vigilante justice. Not that I am in the habit of belittling one's personal beliefs, after all various cultures are raised with a certain perspective on-"

"That's good, kid." You cut him off because you can sense in your bones when he's about to devolve into a useless speech. "And what about Strider? You hear anything about him lately?"

"What, that quack from way back? Nah. Then again, no one ever did, even then. It's what made him such a pain in the ass."

Great, you think, growling under your breath.

"So when and where do they plan on icing the boy?"

"Well you don't have to worry about any technical surprises; they're keen to send a message so they ain't gonna make it look like an accident. Still, they don't want fed attention so aren't likely to take him out on school property or nothing."

"And it's been established that they don't have the balls to storm our street." You say, scratching your scalp irritably. "Fine. Any ideas where these bastards are holed up?"

"They still produce most'a their drug supply out of a shitty apartment complex in the outer rim."

"Good a place as any."

"And tell Sleuth we're square after this, aight? I'm really sticking my neck out, meeting a man of… your stature here and dealing intel like this." He says, sliding an address over to you.

"That's up to him." You say flippantly, looking for your boy as PM actually takes the time to thank the guy.

He's still at the bar, apparently trying to curl in on himself as some high-blooded asshole starts invading his space. Kankri squeaks like a startled bird when you plant a knife in the center of the punk's hand, scurrying into the embrace of his mom. This boy, you swear.

You swipe the blue blood off your blade and leave the bar in a mildly better mood. There are few things stabbing can't fix, and your attitude ain't one of them.

"So what now?" PM asks, following you to the car with Kankri in tow. "What about Karkat?"

"They need him somewhere semi-public, off federal property, and separate from the Crew. Should be easy enough keep him safe 'til the boys and I send a lil message of our own."

 

* * *

  

**> Dave: Be at the fair with your date**

You've been at the fair for nearly twenty minutes now, and your date's been intent on thoroughly trouncing your ass at every game he could. He's got surprisingly good hand-eye coordination (hot damn), but there was the unspoken acknowledgement of your victory when you won him a crab plush the size of his fucking torso. He does an impression of the sun when he tells you to quit being a smug dick, and you're not sure if you're smiling because you won or because he's just an unholy level of adorable. He's wearing a little hat with tiny folds sewn in for his horns, for fuck's sake. You kinda (really) want to touch them but you're pretty sure that'd be the equivalent of grabbing his ass, which would be… sorry you forgot what you were talking about. 

Anyway he's wanting to hold off on the faster rides because he's outright refusing to let go of the crab, but there's still a lot to do. You go on a few of the more chill attractions and partake in the glories of fair food. You both have a moment of silence for the beauty that is the heart-shaped fried dough and red-dyed _everything_ , you out of ironic respect and he in unbelieving speechlessness.

"It's like aesthetic tastes of you and Nepeta somehow warped together through the aether, malforming into the inspiration for this entire goddamn holiday. Was this your plan all along, Dave? To get me to eat this abomination and die by heart-spangled cherubs bursting through my chest like in those unspeakable movies? Because if so, well fucking played."

Your eyes must double in size when he actually calls you by first name, but thank god for the shades because he probably hasn't noticed himself and you don't want to fuck it up.

"Don't be ragging on the Alien movies, Karkat." You say as casually as possible. "That's some quality cinema. Maybe later I can show you some, enlighten you from your romcom dark ages."

"Ha, ha. I look forward to ripping your so-called cinema a proverbial new one, seeing as Mr. 'So cool I can start a fire by rubbing two ice cubes together' is apparently incapable of shutting his insufferable trap during a movie."

Yesssss second date confirmed. Strider, you are the smoothest of the smooth. It is you.

"Yup, that's me. You're gonna have to get real creative to shut me up."

His face goes bright red again and you can tell he's about to unleash a great can of snark on you when-

"Hey guys!"

Ffffffuck.

Suddenly John's got his arm around your shoulders, grinning that goofy smile of his.

"Fancy seeing you here. Karkat!" Aaand he's at Karkat's side, jostling him good-naturedly and pulling him into a one-armed hug. "I just wanted to apologize to you for bailing on our project. Jade was just really insistent, ya know? Ha, I guess she knew Dave's a shit partner! I'm here with her now actually. Heeey, I've got an idea. How about we all hang out together? I'll win you something to make it up to you. I'm really good at the hammer strength tester-thing!"

Your eye is twitching beneath your shades, but you manage to keep your cool. That little prick. He knows just what he's doing, you can _see_ the dreams of a high prankster's gambit dancing in his eyes as he ruffles Karkat's hat. He is _laughing_ at you. That cockblocking motherfucker.

"John, I don't know what shitty crevice you just evacuated yourself from-"

"Ew,"

"-but if you think you can crawl out of it and rub your grimy paws all over my hard-paid death banquet, you're more mistaken than my brother's Communications course." Karkat said, pulling his tray back from John's grabby hands.

"Aw, Dave didn't treat you? That's not very gentlemanly! Oh, what was it my dad said about paying…" 

"Yes, please regale us with your human lusi's romantic prowess, that's just what I wanted to hear whilst eating toxic sludge."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter!"

"No shit." You say, giving him your most unimpressed look. 

"Don't be like that, Dave. So Karkat, you and I should totally ride thehehey!" Thank the gods, Jade's here and she's got John by the ear. 

"He got away from me at the bathroom line. Sorry." She yanks him from where he's practically wrapped around Karkat and starts leading him away.

"We'll meet up later okay!" John's still yelling through the crowd. "Get on the ferris wheel or- _ow_ \- something!" 

You exhale lightly, fingers drumming on the table. Karkat's phone starts vibrating because apparently the universe is intent on screwing you sideways, but he silences it almost immediately. 

"So. Where were we before the atrocity that is Egbert's voice rained down on us like a fucking plague."

His phone goes off a few more times, screen flashing quietly, but neither of you notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my moirail, who motivated me to get back on this by the end of the current century. Next chap should be sooner!  
> (Psst I have barely edited this, I'll go back and look again at it after I've slept)


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